


Spectrum

by Klitch



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 19:50:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12660267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klitch/pseuds/Klitch
Summary: Humans weren’t meant to have three colors. Fushimi deals with the consequences of the choices he’s made.





	Spectrum

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic way back before ROK aired, and finally finished it. Happy birthday, Saru, have some angst.

It _burned._

Under his skin, writhing, and Fushimi felt like he was boiling from the inside out. His eyes were shut tight and he curled in on himself, clutching at his chest. Red, blue, green. Red, blue, green.

_“S-shouldn't we give him a sedative or something?”_

_“If Fushimi-kun asks for it. Otherwise, everyone is to remain away from this area.”_

He heard the voices dimly, and Fushimi tried to open his eyes. He could make out fuzzy figures in blue on the other side of the bars, and the cot beneath him was hard and cold.

There was a dark spot on the far wall, the scar left behind by an explosion. There had been a blanket, burned to ashes in his sleep.

Red, blue, green. Fushimi closed his eyes and slept.

–

There was food left for him, slid through the slot at the bottom of the cell. It was still warm, covered in plastic sheeting that he barely bothered to push aside.

All meat and no vegetables, and it smelled good. Fushimi picked at it and then a shudder went through his body – _green, this time_ – and the bars of the cell danced with electricity.

He pushed the plate back through the slot and curled back up on the cot.

–

More voices. His vision was fuzzy around the edges and Fushimi didn't bother to raise his head.

_“There's no record of this happening before. I'm afraid I won't be much help to you.”_

It was only vaguely familiar, and with the pain in his chest it took a few moments for Fushimi to recognize the voice of the Silver King. Fushimi could just make out his figure standing on the other side of the bars, hands behind his back, head turned in the direction of the cell. Someone in blue was with him – Munakata, probably, but he hadn't spoken yet so Fushimi couldn't be sure – and Fushimi thought that maybe he could see the indistinct forms of the Silver King's two clansmen hovering in the distance.

_“I see. I had hoped your previous research would turn out to be of some use. You did discover the Slate, after all.”_ Yes, it was definitely Munakata, and Fushimi's hands felt cold.

_“I'm sorry.”_ There was rueful smile there that he could hear even if he couldn't see it. _“I should have done something sooner. I had thought refreshing the Slate would have--”_

Fushimi wanted to laugh but his throat felt blocked so that he could barely breathe. He was shaking though, and he couldn't seem to stop.

_“It was a risk we were willing to take.”_ Munakata replied to a question Fushimi hadn't heard. _“In truth, I had not expected this outcome either.”_

Or maybe he _was_ laughing and that was why the convulsions wouldn't stop. Red flooded his vision and he heard the sound of someone screeching like a cat and the jangle of a sword nearly being drawn as red flames flowed out and slammed against the metal bars of the jail cell. The bars bent slightly, small bits of rock crumbling down from the ceiling above, but the metal held and the ceiling held. 

The flames kept going though, through the bars, and Fushimi convulsed again. There was a tinge of violet along the edges and then the power stopped, halted by a wall of pure solid blue.

_“Is this what's been happening?”_

_“On occasion, yes. I would prefer if you kept the destruction to a minimum, Fushimi-kun. After Suoh Mikoto's rampage last year it would be a shame if we had to repair the jail again.”_

Fushimi _did_ laugh then, bubbling up from his throat like blood from a wound. Green electricity crackled along the corners of his vision and his hands were burning, burning.

A pause and then footsteps as they walked away. The creak of a door and a girl's voice timidly whispering, “Bye,” and then silence, and Fushimi laughed.

–

_“What the hell is this?”_

Misaki. Of course it was Misaki. Fushimi was only surprised it had taken so long, and he curled in tighter around himself.

_“You assholes did this to him and now you're keeping him shut up here like—like a fucking_ prisoner _, what the fuck is wrong with you people!?”_

Misaki was screaming again like an idiot, like any of this had anything to do with him. They'd talked briefly, in those few moments he'd had in the underground before everything really started to get away from him. Even so it made the colors underneath Fushimi's skin writhe painfully just to hear Misaki's voice, and Fushimi's hands reflexively clenched around the burn scar on his chest.

_“It was Fushimi-kun's own decision, to remain in here.”_ It was Awashima's voice this time, not Munakata's, officious as always but with a distinct tremor beneath it, not quite the clipped severe tone she would normally use in such a situation.

_Go away._ Fushimi wanted to yell at the both of them but his throat was too raw from screaming the night before, and he dug his fingers into the burn scar instead. 

_“The hell it was! You can't keep Saruhiko down here, he's not—he's not a fucking_ criminal _!”_

 _“We are aware of that.”_ He didn't know what was worse, the worry in Misaki's voice or the compassion on Awashima's. _“The door is unlocked. If he wishes to leave he can. At the moment, however, Fushimi-kun is a danger to both himself and others. This is the most secure room in the building. He will be safe here.”_

_“The hell he's safe! He looks like shit, have you Blue dogs even been_ feeding _him?”_

_Go away._ Fushimi's nails curled into the burn and he felt warm blood on his fingertips. He bit his lip hard, more blood, metal-tasting in his mouth. See Misaki, I don't need food. I don't need sleep. I don't need any of you, so go away.

_“His needs are being taken care of. The Captain--”_

_“Fuck you and your stupid King! If it wasn't for you guys, Saruhiko wouldn't even be in this situation to begin with!”_   


_“Fushimi-kun was aware of the risks. He volunteered for the operation.”_ Awashima's words were cold but her voice was heavy with worry and something like regret, something like _guilt,_ and Fushimi's body folded in on itself as if he could shut them all out.

Blue surrounded him and he felt cold again, so cold, and he heard Awashima gasp.

_Go away. Go away. Go away._

When he looked up again they were gone and there was an indent in the ground, a deep dark scar where power had cut through the floor itself. Fushimi rolled over and slept.

–

_“Fushimi-san, you need to eat.”_

Fushimi didn't look up, lying on his stomach on the floor, face buried in his arms. It sounded like Hidaka's voice and there was the rough scratch of ceramic on stone as a plate was pushed forward.

_Go away. Go away. Go away._

_“The Captain said you didn't eat anything yesterday either. You have to—you have to eat_ something, _you'll get sick at this rate.”_

His body felt cold and boneless and he could barely raise his head, much less laugh. Fushimi didn't move, and green electricity darted up and down his body.

_“Kamo-san made you something.”_ Cajoling, like he was talking to a child. _“Well, we all kinda helped? Everyone's really worried about you. Maybe if you eat something good you'll feel better?”_

_Go away. Go away._

His head hurt and the electricity wouldn't stop. There was blue pulsing under his skin, blood in his veins, and red that burned the arteries raw. Green that jolted his heart and stopped his breath. Nothing working right, everything blurring together.

_“I'm sure you can get through this. I definitely believe you can get through this, Fushimi-san!”_

“Go away!” The words tore themselves from Fushimi's throat and the green power burst from his lungs, lighting up the entirety of the cell. Dimly he thought he saw Hidaka fall back, skitter for the doorway. “Go away, go away, go _away--_ ”

Hidaka fled out the door but the words wouldn't stop and electricity danced along the walls, charred them black. It hit the bars of the cell and then upwards through the ceiling. Fushimi felt like his heart might explode any moment but he kept yelling, head swimming, and he wondered if it would hurt when the red and blue burst through his skin and tore him apart.

It didn't happen. Instead there was the sound of something further away in the building exploding, and then all the lights went out.

Fushimi collapsed onto his back and choked on his own laughter.

– 

The dark cell had grown cold and Fushimi lay there on the cot, eyes half-closed, shuddering slightly. Red pulsed under his skin and he forced it down, swallowed, trembled. He didn't need that warmth, didn't trust it, never had.

The door opened. Fushimi wasn't certain how long it had been since Hidaka had run out, since his powers had cut off all the electricity to the building. No one else had been in since, not even to bring him food or water. He'd eaten the charred remains of whatever it was Hidaka had left for him, curling his fingers into bits of burnt meat like a child, licking the ashes off his fingers. 

There was a slight glow of blue that lit the room and the steps were slow and regal. Munakata, then. Fushimi lowered his head back down.

Munakata's footsteps halted just in front of the cell door. There was a long silence and Fushimi wondered if Munakata was observing him like an animal in a cage, or a lab mouse whose results had been found wanting.

There was the sound of something metal hitting the floor, and Fushimi raised his head.

“Shackles which can block out even the power given by Kings.” Munakata's voice was direct and clear. “They were found hidden amongst the artifacts at Mihashira Tower. If you wish to make use of them, Fushimi-kun, then they are yours. They will block out even the three powers you now possess. You can return to being a normal human, with a normal life. If that is your choice, I will relieve you of your duties and allow you to leave Scepter 4.”

Fushimi stared back at him dully. Blue light glinted off the metal cuffs lying on the floor, but Munakata's expression was entirely in shadows.

“If you wish to bind yourself forever, I will not stop you from doing so.” Munakata turned as if to leave, and for just a moment Fushimi thought he could make out a hint of a smile on Munakata's face. “If you decide otherwise, however, I will be behind the building near the training grounds tomorrow evening. You may join me there, if you wish. The door is unlocked, Fushimi-kun. Whatever you choose, you need not remain behind it forever.” 

Footsteps again, walking away. The door closing, and then darkness.

Metal cuffs on the floor in front of him.

_“If you wish to bind yourself forever.”_

He could take that offer, he supposed. Kings and clans, those were nothing to Fushimi. And as for power...no, he had none of that right now. Worse than none. Even having no powers at all would be better than _this._

Useless. Dangerous. Defective. Not even able to control what he had asked for, asked for once and asked for again – _take this hand, take this sword –_ and volunteered for a third time. Weak and useless, not good enough to keep the thing he'd taken into his hands from slipping out of his fingers.

And the alternative, cold metal against his wrists, forever. A dim stifled feeling in the back of his mind and in his core, like having a blanket thrown over him all the time. Cut off. A piece of him gone that he couldn't get back.

Metal cuffs on the floor and Fushimi's hands glowed.

Red, blue, green.

–

There was an old training ground behind Scepter 4's building, a remnant of the previous Blue King's clan. It was rarely used now, not when the dojo was more convenient, indoors and not bound to the whim of weather. Fushimi pulled his coat closer around his shoulders as he stepped out into the grass, a cold wind stirring up behind him.

Munakata was standing there, looking up at the dim evening sky. He turned his head as Fushimi approached and there was a knowing smile on his face that made Fushimi scowl.

“I had hoped you would make this your choice, Fushimi-kun.”

“Tch. What choice?” Fushimi crossed his arms and tried to ignore the way they shook. There were small darts of green flashing underneath his pale skin. “Well? What did I have to come all the way out here for? I'm cold.”

“I thought perhaps we could spar.” Munakata stepped aside to reveal a small pile of wooden swords lying on the ground. Fushimi raised an eyebrow.

“What's the point of this?” Fushimi said bluntly. “I don't recall you leading the swordsmanship training, Captain.”

“Indeed,” Munakata said, accepting the words with a nod. “But this is a special case. Take a sword, Fushimi-kun.”

_Take this sword._ Blue coursed through his veins and Fushimi's entire body shook with the sudden shock. Munakata didn't seem to be at all fazed by the reaction, only stood there calmly waiting while Fushimi got himself back under control.

“Well, Fushimi-kun?” Munakata prompted once the episode had passed. Fushimi took a stiff step forward, one hand wrapping around the hilt of one of the wooden swords.

“Now what?” Fushimi muttered.

“Now,” Munakata said calmly, dark eyes meeting Fushimi's, “imbue the sword with power.”

“Huh?” Fushimi glared. “What kind of stupid--”

“If you would, Fushimi-kun.” Munakata's voice was calm but commanding, and Fushimi found himself taking a step back and nodding.

“...Whatever.” Fushimi shrugged, as though it was nothing. He could feel flames coiling around the inside of his skin, waiting to split through and spill like blood on the ground – _take this hand_ , _someone had said once, and the flames had slid inside, down his throat, burned in his stomach_ – and Fushimi clenched his teeth and steadied himself. 

_Blue._ It should have been easy. It should have been automatic, no different from breathing, but he could feel red, feel green, both creeping up his arms and seeping into the blue that should have automatically come at his call. Fushimi bit his lip hard – _down, down, force it down –_ and the sword began to glow blue. The aura was calm and steady and Fushimi was just about to turn back towards Munakata, a triumphant smile on his lips, when suddenly green shot down his arms and the sword glowed brighter and brighter, electricity dancing along the edges, and Fushimi didn't even have a moment to cry out before the sword burst into pieces in his hands.

There was a momentary sharp sting of pain but not near as much as Fushimi would have expected, and as he blinked away the spots that had suddenly blurred his vision he realized that there was still blue glowing there, around his hands where he'd held the sword. It wasn't his, though, and he looked up at Munakata's calmly smiling face.

“Captain...”

Munakata simply reached down and took another sword, holding it out to Fushimi.

“Again, Fushimi-kun.”

–

He was bone-tired by the time he dragged himself back into the cell. He'd reduced five swords to toothpicks and snapped a sixth in two before Munakata had allowed him to quit. His hands were a mess of splinters and small cuts – Munakata's shielding had managed to keep him from doing any permanent damage to himself but the timing hadn't always been quite on the spot enough to save him from everything. Munakata had treated his hands before letting him go, covering them in salve and wrapping a temporary bandage around them with a look that suggested he expected Fushimi to take the bandages off as soon as he was out of sight and was preemptively disapproving of it.

He'd also suggested that Fushimi return to the dorms, and Fushimi curled himself up into a ball on the cold cot. His heartbeat was still pounding from all the activity and he could feel red flames licking at the inside of his skin, begging to be set free. He thought he could almost see it, staring down at the bandages on his hands, and in a sudden impulsive movement Fushimi tore them off his hands. 

Blood oozed sluggishly from the wounds, red, red, red. Fushimi closed his eyes and slept.

He dreamed in blue.

–

It took a week, before he was able to consistently put power into the sword without breaking it. In the meantime the makeshift training area quickly became a wooden sword grave, the ground covered in a fine layer of shattered sticks. 

No matter how many times Fushimi failed Munakata refused to say any word at all about it, save for the repeated “Again.” It was starting to get irritating but Fushimi couldn't quite bring himself to say as much out loud.

Munakata was waiting for him behind headquarters, as usual, but there were no wooden swords lying beside him. Fushimi wondered darkly if he'd used up all of Scepter 4's budget in that department.

“Done already?” Fushimi muttered as he walked over to join Munakata. There was green sparking in his veins again, and his skin itched. Munakata smiled brilliantly at him as he approached.

“Certainly not,” Munakata said. “I simply believe it is time we start a new form of training. After all, Fushimi-kun, there is more to using power than merely placing it inside a sword.” 

“Is that so?” Fushimi said, heavy sarcasm dripping from each word. “So? What are you going to make me do _this_ time?”

“I think a simple sparring practice should suffice. We will try the red powers this time.”

“Sparring?” Fushimi ignored the shiver of distaste that ran through him at the mention of the word 'red.' As if he needed to use _those_ powers again. “Against you? That's unexpected.”

“Not at all,” Munakata said. He was still smiling but with the satisfaction of a cat surprising a canary. “Actually, Fushimi-kun, I had a different partner in mind for you this time.” He turned and signaled to a figure Fushimi hadn't even noticed leaning against a tree in the distance.

“I'm coming, I'm coming. Don't call me like I'm one of you Blue dogs.” The irritated voice was familiar, _too_ familiar, and Fushimi's skin jolted with red and green. “I'm only doing this for Saruhiko, not you.”

“Misaki.” The word tasted flat on his tongue, completely at odds with the way the rest of his body was tingling with electricity (green, definitely green, not red, not the beat of his heart and the catch of his breath because Misaki was _here,_ Misaki was here _for him_ ). Fushimi laughed. “Well, this _is_ a surprise. Did you finally wise up and leave those losers behind?”

“Shut up!” Misaki snapped irritably and Fushimi felt a smile wind its way across his face. Munakata was watching the two of them with a thoughtful look, but he didn't intervene. “It's not like I _wanted_ to be here. But Kusanagi-san said...” Misaki clenched a fist and stared up defiantly into Fushimi's face. “Kusanagi-san said that your stupid King wanted me to come and help you.”

“ _Help_?” Fushimi laughed again (maybe they'd changed, maybe they'd talked, but his skin burned inside out and it was better this way, to keep his power away from Misaki, this power that would swallow him up like an anthill glowing with flames). “I didn't think you would _ever_ help the Blue clan, Misaki.”

“I'm _not_!” Misaki said fiercely. “I don't give a crap about you stupid Blues or your damn King, and I definitely didn't come because _that guy_ asked me to.” He pointed sharply at Munakata as he spoke but Munakata's expression remained serene. “I wanted to help _you,_ you idiot!”

Green electricity running through his swiftly-beating heart, and his tongue wouldn't work.

“As I was saying, Fushimi-kun.” And of course Munakata took that moment to step between them. “Yatagarasu-kun has kindly agreed to be your sparring partner for the day.”

“I refuse.” Fushimi managed to find the words, even as a hundred small jolts made his hands shake. “Why should I have to waste time fighting this loudmouth midget?”

“Don't act so high and might, monkey.” Misaki was still smiling somehow, still eager, as though Fushimi's words hadn't even dealt him so much as a glancing blow. “You may think you're so strong now that you've got three colors but you still look like the same guy to me. I bet all that power of yours won't be able to put a single scratch on me.” His eyes never left Fushimi's as he spoke, as though he was trying to get across what he couldn't quite find the words to say. “I bet you won't even be able to keep up with me.”

_You can't hurt me, so don't be so afraid._

Fushimi heard the meaning beneath the words clearly, and he grit his teeth.

“I will provide shielding as needed, of course,” Munakata said. “And in any case, I believe Yatagarasu-kun is particularly well-suited for accepting high-damage hits.”

“R...right.” Misaki looked like he wasn't sure if he'd just been insulted or praised. _“A-anyway,_ are we gonna fight or what?”

“Fushimi-kun?” Munakata's eyes were sharp and searching, and blue stirred at Fushimi's core. “It is your choice, of course.”

Misaki was still looking at him, silent, waiting.

_“I wanted to help_ you. _”_ Fire burned in his veins and electricity tingled under his skin, and Fushimi couldn't be sure of the colors.

Fushimi clicked his tongue and stepped forward.

“I guess.” He managed a smile. “If you can handle it, _Misaki.”_

“Excellent. You may proceed. Remember, Fushimi-kun: red power only.” Munakata took a step back even as Misaki moved forward, cracking his knuckles. Fushimi assumed a defensive stance, waiting.

“I hope you're ready to get your ass kicked, monkey.”

“We'll see about that, _Misaki.”_

Misaki moved first only because Fushimi let him, red power gathering in his fists. Fushimi immediately moved to counter, pulling his own red from where it burned below his skin, arms coming up to block, body moving in an almost graceful motion as he matched his movements to Misaki's in the dance he knew too well and a flicker of green darted in amongst the burning red--

_Fweet._

There was the sound of a whistle and Fushimi all but jumped back, concentration broken. Misaki seemed to have been caught off guard as well and he stumbled in the middle of his dodge, landing awkwardly in the grass. 

Behind them, Munakata stood calmly with one hand behind his back and a plastic whistle dangling around his neck, as though he was someone's substitute gym teacher.

“What the hell are you--” Misaki started to yell as he tried to scramble to his feet.

“Red aura, Fushimi-kun.” Munakata ignored Misaki entirely, eyes focused on Fushimi. “Again.”

Fushimi exchanged a blank look with Misaki, who shrugged and then smiled as if to say “ _He's_ your _King.”_

“Again,” Munakata repeated, and Misaki held up his fists once more. Fushimi looked between the two of them and clicked his tongue.

_Again,_ and his arms lit up red.

–

Fushimi fell onto his back on the grass, breathing hard. _Again, again,_ and all the start-and-stop made him feel twice as tired as any regular fight could have. His entire body ached and he swore if he heard that damn whistle one more time he was going to shove it down the Captain's throat.

Munakata had been called away to do some actual work and so he'd allowed a brief break for a rest while he was gone. Fushimi stared up at the blue sky, vision feeling slightly hazy.

Two minutes was the best he'd managed so far. Two minutes of steady red aura, not out of control, not tinged with blue or lined in green. Just pure red flames, a single color, all in control. A couple of his overpowered hits had managed to land moments before the damn whistle jolted him again, but he hadn't done any major damage to Misaki or to their immediate surroundings.

_Misaki._ Fushimi tilted his head slightly as Misaki flopped down beside him. Misaki's face and clothes were slightly singed but he was laughing a little as he looked up at the sky.

“That was kinda fun, right, Saruhiko?” Misaki's voice was tired but light. As though this was old times again, as though they were still friends.

“I guess.” Fushimi couldn't even work up the energy to manage a taunt, and the way Misaki was looking at him was making sparks crackle under his skin.

The wind blew gently over them as they both stared upward in silence. 

“...Hey. Saruhiko.” Misaki's voice, uncharacteristically serious and subdued, broke the silence. Fushimi didn't reply, didn't even move, but Misaki continued as if he had. “Don't—don't give up, okay? I know you can control this. The colors, and everything. You're not the kinda guy who loses easily, so...don't give up, all right?”

Fushimi turned his head slightly to look at him and Misaki stared back at him, a steady gaze. After a long moment Fushimi found himself nodding without even quite being aware of it.

Misaki smiled, and fire burned through Fushimi's heart.

“Right! We'll show those stupid powers of yours!” Misaki held out a fist to him and Fushimi found his own hand moving to press against it. “You'll see, Saruhiko. You'll have the hang of it in no time!” 

Nodding felt like a lie, but Fushimi did it anyway.

–

He had been sparring with Misaki for three days, the morning he woke up on fire.

It wasn't like before. Fushimi could feel it in every corner of his body, burning, burning, _burning_ , in his stomach and his throat, behind his eyes, flames replacing blood and running through his arteries, spreading to every corner of his body. He didn't need a thermometer to tell him that his temperature was far too high and he could feel the sweat running down his face. Fushimi curled up into a tight ball, convulsing slightly with each breath. His mouth burned so much he could barely breathe, much less speak.

And dimly he remembered this feeling – _can you take my hand? –_ remembered the feel of his body burning to ashes, boiling alive from the inside out, a monster made of flames that stared down at him and prepared to swallow him. His entire body throbbed with pain and Fushimi couldn't even manage enough breath to scream.

He didn't know how long he lay there, twisting, melting, burning, mouth bone dry even as his skin was soaked in sweat, when he heard the door to the prison ward open and a voice call for him.

_“Fushimi-san? The Captain sent me to check on – Fushimi-san!”_

It was Akiyama's voice, tense with worry, but Fushimi couldn't turn his head to look. He heard the sharp sound of Akiyama's footsteps running back the way he'd come, yelling for help, but Fushimi couldn't move.

_“Power overflow.”_

_“As I suspected.”_

Time had melted together and Fushimi wasn't sure if he really heard the voices, the Captain and the Silver King again, or if he was only hallucinating because of the fever. He had the dim memory of someone covered by a shield of blue lifting his head and forcing water down his throat, and there was a once-cold cloth on his forehead that did nothing to stem the raging fever.

_“No, I haven't seen this before. Has it happened in the past, with the two colors?”_

_“Not that I am aware of.”_

_“Three might be too much for one person. Has he been exerting himself more than usual lately?”_

_“You could say that. Have you any suggestions?”_

_“There may be a solution...”_

The voices faded away and Fushimi's body convulsed. It was hot, so hot, and he wondered if this was what it felt like to burn to death.

“Saruhiko.” The voice was clear like water, cutting through the haze in his mind, and Fushimi felt something smooth and round pressed into one of his hands. He managed to crack one eye open.

Anna smiled down at him, a gentle face with determined eyes. Two of her hands were holding on to one of his and there were flames all around her.

Fushimi tried to open his mouth, to say something, but his throat felt too dry and all that came out was a broken croaking sound.

“It will be all right.” Anna's hand tightened around his, the marble she'd placed in his palm pressing into his skin. It felt oddly cool, like a drop of water in the middle of a desert. “I'll take the rest of it, so Saruhiko can relax.”

There was the sense of some of the flames around him wavering, coming together and then flowing away from his body towards where Anna sat. Fushimi convulsed again and Anna laid one of her hands on his forehead.

“Relax,” she repeated softly. A small smile fluttered around her lips. “Saruhiko's red...is also a pretty red.”

He wanted to say something scornful then – _Mikoto's red, after all, the only one who hadn't received a new power to overtake the old –_ but he still couldn't speak and her hands felt cool and gentle around his. 

“You'll be all right. Saruhiko is strong.” A small white hand pressed itself over his eyes, slid them closed. “So rest.”

When he woke up there was a blanket thrown over him and his skin felt like his own again, no longer burning, the tightness in his chest gone. He felt worn out though, strung through as though the fire that had been burning inside him had left him utterly hollow.

There was a soft touch on his shoulders, rough hands raising his head and bringing a glass of water up close to his lips. Fushimi's vision was unfocused as he stared blankly upward but he could just make out a hazy figure with red hair.

“You idiot.” Misaki's voice was strained as if he'd been crying and Fushimi couldn't find the energy to attempt a mocking reply or even a click of his tongue. “Don't—don't make everyone worry about you like that again. I'm not gonna forgive you if you make Anna upset again, got it, monkey?”

Fushimi didn't know what to reply even if he could get his voice to work, so he only sat there silently as Misaki helped him drink. The water felt cool and soothing against his parched throat. Once he was done drinking Misaki gently lowered Fushimi's head back down onto the cot and pressed a wet cloth against his forehead.

_You don't have to do this for me._ Fushimi wanted to scream it out, to smack Misaki's hand away, do anything to wipe out the expression he knew had to be on Misaki's face. But he was tired, too tired, and he could only lie there motionless as Misaki tended to him.

When he woke again he was alone in the cell. There was a small red marble pressed into his palm.

–

By the next morning he was fine and able to manage a short sparring session with Misaki, though the worry in Misaki's eyes was almost enough to make Fushimi turn on his heel and go back to the cell. But Misaki didn't say anything about the day before and neither did Munakata, beyond ending the session early after noting the way Fushimi's powers had started flaring wildly the more exhausted he became.

It was another week before he woke up burning again, unable to move, and Anna was summoned to his bedside once more.

Two weeks later it wasn't burning but cold, a chill that wracked his body with shivers, and Munakata who sat beside him and stroked his hair, holding his hand and siphoning off the power that his body was unable to contain. Fushimi was burrowed under multiple thick blankets – and he knew those blankets, the kind Scepter 4 kept in every dorm room for the winter and didn't, to his knowledge, have extras of and was too aware of the faces that kept poking in through the doorway of the jail and calling quietly to Munakata, asking after Fushimi's condition, and it would have set his teeth on edge if he could stop them from chattering. He could barely make out the words Munakata was speaking to him but the cadence was even like a lullaby and it was almost enough to make him forget the cold.

So it went from there, another half a week and burning again – the red always unstable and maybe even more so being Suoh Mikoto's red and no Suoh Mikoto there to calm it, only Anna and her small hands and red marbles. Then blue, and cold, and Munakata quietly discussing various theories and interesting anecdotes with him even though Munakata had to know that Fushimi could barely hear him. And every time, there was the after ritual too – Misaki with cold water and Awashima with warm, Akiyama and Hidaka and all the rest bringing in blankets and hot tea. So many things that didn't make sense and for days afterward when he was feeling better Fushimi would lean against the wall of the cell and hold Anna's marble up to the light, and wonder.

It was nearly a month and half after the first overflow that he was jolted awake by green power flashing behind his eyes, body jerking helplessly with spasms as the electric shock ran through his body. He tried to climb out of bed and fell to the ground instead, limbs feeling completely out of his command, not even able to muster the small amount of control needed to stand.

_“There must be something we can do.”_ He was vaguely aware of Munakata's voice again but Fushimi's mind couldn't quite wrap itself around at the words. It felt as though he'd been lying there on the ground for hours and still he couldn't stand, light-headed and with a tightness in his chest that made it hard to breathe. If he could Fushimi thought he would have laughed, wondering if this was Hisui Nagare's revenge at last, green power that would overwhelm his internal systems and stop his heart.

_“That power belongs to the Green King.”_ The Silver King again, always the researcher there to observe the subject. Why there was such sorrow in his voice, Fushimi had no idea. It wasn't as though they'd ever interacted in any meaningful way before. If anything he thought the Silver King would be excited, to have the chance to observe the ways in which three powers could _utterly_ fuck up a person's body.

Fushimi did manage a laugh then and choked on it halfway through. He writhed helplessly on the cold floor, gasping and coughing, and he supposed it was just as well that he hadn't eaten anything so there was no worry about throwing it up. 

_“And if there is no Green King?”_ Munakata, calm and questioning, as though he was looking at a puzzle piece whose position he was determined to find. There was an undercurrent to that tone too, and it almost felt like Fushimi could hear it more keenly with the shocks pulsing through his body. _“Hisui Nagare is dead.”_

_“I realize we can't wait for the Slate to choose a successor--”_ The Silver King's voice cut off. _“The Slate. The power belongs to the Slate. If there was a way we could return it_ there _, without needing the King as an intermediary...”_

_“We cannot risk moving him to Mihashira Tower.”_ Munakata seemed to have caught on to whatever idea the Silver King had hit on and it was hard for Fushimi to keep concentrating on their voices. _“And the Slate itself is still too fragile to move after the reconstruction.”_

_“Maybe we could...route the green power, somehow, through another King? Someone who can reach out to the Slate and sync with it--”_

_“Would that have an affect on the King, dealing with power outside of their own?”_

_“No...yes. Maybe. I can't say. There's no record, my research didn't – but it's probably his only chance. I don't know if his body will last long enough for the overflow to burn itself out. People weren't meant to take on three powers.”_

_“It is a chance, at least. I will make arrangements on this end if you can handle the matter of the Slate itself.”_

_“I won't say it isn't dangerous.”_

_“I am aware.”_ Fushimi thought Munakata might have laughed, low and rueful. _“Well, though Fushimi-kun himself might argue I do prefer to clean up my own mess, in this case especially.”_

His vision grayed out then and Fushimi wasn't completely certain if they'd stopped speaking or if he'd blacked out and they'd left. He was peripherally aware that he wasn't alone in the cell anymore, and he thought he could see a tint of blue off to one side of him. The red marble had somehow made it into his palm and he managed to close his hand tightly over it.

_“Saruhiko.”_ He heard Anna's voice from far off, as if in a dream. 

_“Are you prepared?”_ Munakata, voice almost fading into nothing against the incessant buzzing in Fushimi's ears. He thought Anna might have nodded. _“We are ready on this end. Yes, I am aware.  I am taking all precautions. We will begin, then.”_

Fushimi didn't know who he was talking to and he wanted to tell Anna to leave before she was hurt by the electric sparks his body kept giving off at random intervals. His face was entirely numb though, and he could only look at her grimly determined face as she reached for his hand. Her entire body was surrounded by a faint glow of red and, oddly, blue.

_“It's all right, Saruhiko. You can't hurt me.”_ He thought she might have smiled. _“I'll send it back for you now.”_

Her hand pressed over one of his, the one holding the marble, and she closed her eyes.

There was a vague feeling like he was floating and Fushimi's body convulsed again. Anna's grip on his hand remained strong and he thought he could see two small wings of flame beginning to flicker at her back.

_“Found it.”_ Her eyes opened, glowing red.

_“So it is reacting? Excellent. This gamble may work, then.”_

Part of Fushimi was certain he should know what was happening but his head was spinning and he finally had to close his eyes. Anna's hand tightened over his.

In his mind he could see a room, could see the Dresden Slate pulsing. There were still small spiderweb cracks all over it, a patchwork of pieces to mark where the Slate had come apart and then fused itself back together into something different and yet the same as always. The Silver King stood off to one side with his clansmen, watching.

And then the vision blurred and he could see Hisui Nagare sitting in front of him, eyes bright with conviction, offering a hand to the man who had betrayed one clan and then another.

Fushimi wondered if the Green King had known what might happen to a person who took on three powers, if that was why he'd accepted Fushimi so easily. If he'd known right from the start who the double agent in his mist was and had chosen to offer him the power anyway, just to see the consequences of it.

He'd managed to contain it for a time, that was the worst of it. Fushimi could still remember those moments after the sparking in his heart had died down and he'd found himself still alive and uninjured, green power burrowing into his heart along with the red and the blue. When he'd called for it, it had come to him, been tamed by him.

Or maybe it had only been taming _him_ all this time, and dimly Fushimi felt his body convulse again and heard Anna saying something, her voice uncharacteristically emotional. He'd used only the green power nearly the entire time he'd been spying on jungle from the inside and all that time he'd been fine. It had only been right at the end, after he'd run into Misaki and they'd fought off Gojou Sukuna, after they'd yelled at each other and dragged themselves to safety that he'd summoned the red into his knives to ward off the enemies tailing them. It had begun shortly after that, wading into the fray to join the rest of Scepter 4 as they intercepted wave after wave of low-ranked jungle members, when Doumyouji had said something about Fushimi's sword glowing purple that he'd entirely ignored at the time. He almost hadn't noticed the colors mixing then, red, purple, blue, aqua, green, colors cycling – like everyone else he had been focused on the scene in front of them, the Slate as it broke apart and reformed, Munakata's Sword falling and then suddenly reconstructing itself into an entirely new one inches from Munakata's head. 

The remaining members of jungle had moved to escape and Fushimi had gone after them alone, not thinking about anything but the completion of his mission. It was only when he'd swung his sword and everything had exploded around him, tearing up his clothes and the landscape and any enemies unlucky enough to be surrounding him that he'd realized how _hot_ his body had felt.

His heart beat erratically and Fushimi's throat suddenly tightened up. He thought his body might be thrashing now but all he could see in his mind was the Dresden Slate, the Slate and Hisui Nagare laughing at him from somewhere that couldn't be seen.

And there in his mind, Hisui Nagare's Sword of Damocles glowing, the very Sword that he'd seen dismantled with his own eyes when the Slate had been reborn.

All of a sudden it felt like his body was his own again and Fushimi sat up abruptly, _too_ abruptly, and he fell forward onto his hands with his mouth open as if he might be sick. He thought Anna might still be there, that it might have been her hand rubbing the slow circles on his back as he gasped and sputtered, trying to get the feeling in his body back.

He could hear Munakata again, talking to someone he couldn't see.

_“Yes, it seems to have worked. And on your end?”_ A pause. _“How interesting. Yes, yes, I believe Fushimi-kun should be fine now. For the moment, in any case. I appreciate your assistance in this matter.”_

Fushimi coughed helplessly, fingers curling into the cold floor, face twisting.

Fine? Fine? As though he would ever be fine. He could still feel the green inside of him, green and red and blue, all of them only waiting to tear him apart, tear apart the body too weak to contain them. 

His body twisted in helpless spasms, colors coiling around his heart.

–

The green overflow took longer to shake off, and it was nearly a week before Fushimi manged to drag himself out of bed and onto the training grounds. Munakata was there waiting for him even though Fushimi had not bothered to send any word that he was feeling well enough to come, and he wondered darkly if Munakata had been waiting for him here every day.

Misaki was there too, pacing, fists clenched, and something about the way he kept glaring at Munakata gave Fushimi the impression that he had possibly just missed some yelling.

“Saruhiko!” It was Misaki who saw him first, running to meet him and then stopping a few steps short, sudden hesitation in his eyes and the look on his face made Fushimi grit his teeth. All this power, and still it made Misaki look at him like that, like someone weak who needed to be protected.

“I am pleased to see you are feeling better, Fushimi-kun.” Munakata easily stepped between them, as though he could sense the awkwardness that had sprung up in the space of Misaki's hesitation. “I had hoped to continue our training sessions properly.”

“Tch. I guess.” Fushimi crossed his arms, trying to ignore the pulsing beneath his skin. He moved to pick up a wooden sword and Munakata stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“I believe we should try something different today.” Munakata's smile was steady. “Try to summon your green aura if you would, Fushimi-kun.”

Fushimi stiffened, feeling the jolt of green electricity twist its way down his spine, but it was Misaki who spoke.

“What the hell are you saying?” Misaki's eyes were burning. “Saruhiko can't—he was almost _killed_ by that shitty Green and now you want him to--”

“What is done cannot be undone.” Munakata ignored Misaki entirely, eyes on Fushimi. “That being so, the only answer is to learn control. You have mastered two auras already. I have every confidence that you will be able to manage a third.”

“And if I can't?” The words came from Fushimi's mouth unbidden, and he scowled at the sound of them. The reply seemed to please Munakata though, and he smiled.

“Then we shall find another path,” Munakata said simply. “But there is no knowing until you try, after all. Now, if you are prepared to spar?”

Fushimi glanced briefly over at Misaki, who still looked dissatisfied but assumed a defensive stance anyway. Fushimi gave a heavy sigh and spread his arms wide.

Green electricity crackled at his fingertips – Hisui Nagare's Sword of Damocles, power and heartbeat and _betrayal_ , even if it had all been someone else's plan, still there beneath the beat of his blood – and Fushimi closed his hands around the power, and attacked.

–

He felt sore all the time now, and the routine had become almost blurred in his mind. Wake up, crawl out of bed, eat the food left for him at the door of his cell _(his open cell, unlocked, but he didn't leave)_ , then make his way to the training grounds. Munakata was there waiting for him very nearly always – once it had been Lieutenant Awashima, much to his surprise, a whistle around her neck and sympathy in her voice as she forced him through the motions again and again. Misaki usually as well, though lately there had been others too, Akiyama and Benzai using their Blue aura against his Red and his Green, and once even Yatogami Kuroh with his Colorless powers observing as Fushimi cycled through all three colors one after the other.

And punctuated between days and weeks, overflow. Red and blue, Anna and Munakata with their hands over his, water poured down his throat. And only one other time, the green again, and all the fuss that went with it. For all the bother, though, Fushimi couldn't help but notice that the intervals between overflows were growing longer in between, and he felt the electricity and the fire and the cold moving beneath his skin less and less. Almost... _normal,_ as if he could live like this after all, and the small slivers of hope that tried to worm their way into his chest made him long for an open wound to scratch.

Fushimi groaned a little as he rose and stretched; the cot had not gotten any more comfortable in the months he'd been here. Anna's marble was still tucked away in a corner of the mattress and he ran his hands over it before leaving the cell and making his way to the training grounds.

Munakata wasn't there, for once, and he hadn't left Awashima to take over in his stead either. Misaki was there though, pacing restlessly, and for the first time it occurred to Fushimi how utterly _uncomfortable_ it had to be for Misaki to keep coming back to Scepter 4 headquarters day after day even with the alliance, how often Misaki had probably been standing there with Munakata, feeling similar to how Fushimi always had around Suoh Mikoto but never leaving, waiting for Fushimi to arrive.

“So are you going to be my babysitter today, _Misaki?”_ Fushimi smothered those thoughts and let the usual hint of a taunt seep back into his voice. It felt nice, almost, the way the word rolled off his tongue. 

_Normal,_ and the jolt of electricity dancing along his skin tasted like a feeling without a color.

“Che. Someone has to be.” Misaki stopped pacing as Fushimi approached, one hand on his hip. “I was gonna spar with you like normal but that stupid prissy King of yours said he had some kind of emergency and left me standing here.”  


“Emergency...?” Fushimi's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He hadn't heard that there was anything happening but then he hadn't been in the office for weeks either, and it wasn't as if they'd waste time telling him about a situation that he would be no help at all in dealing with. From what little he'd managed to gather, refreshing the Slate hadn't caused the number of Strains to decrease in any way and therefore Scepter 4 still had a job to do. Blue power hummed under Fushimi's fingers and he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Then why are you still here? Who knows when Captain will be back if there's a mission. You want to get back to your precious _Homra,_ right?”

“W-well, yeah, I wanna get out of this place as quick as I can.” Misaki shifted, something obviously stiff and uncomfortable in his stance, and it made the air a little harder to breathe. “But I figured I should at least let you know what's going on, if your guys weren't gonna bother.”

“I don't need you to do me any favors,” Fushimi muttered, dismissive, even as fire began to burn hotter in his lungs.

“I'm not doing you a—” Misaki stopped, sighed, and shook his head. “A-anyway...your King left and I saw a bunch of vans driving off...you Blues sure work a lot, don't you?”

“That's right, Misaki. That's how adults with real jobs do things.” Fushimi snickered and Misaki glared at him, and if it wasn't for the red and green suddenly singing under his skin it almost might feel like old times, like nothing had changed at all – Fushimi teasing and Misaki getting angry but with a spark like laughter still in his eyes. “So? You've told me. If Captain's not here I'm going back.” There was no point in just standing out here doing nothing, after all, and Fushimi began to turn away.

“Wait!” Misaki's voice stopped him and Fushimi turned, a bit surprised. The expression seemed to be mirrored on Misaki's face, as if even he hadn't expected the word to come out of his mouth, and there was still something unseen between them blocking their way to each other. “I mean...it's stupid to just go back and sleep in that cold cell again, right? Why the hell are you still staying in there anyway, no wonder you look like a fucking ghost...”

“I'm not going to explain myself to you,” Fushimi said, back hunched as he glared at Misaki from under his bangs. “I'm going back.”

“I said wait a second, you stupid monkey!” Misaki's hand reached out and touched his shoulder, and even though he couldn't see the green Fushimi felt something like a spark. “I mean...look, it's been too long since you got out of this place, right? And if you don't have anything to do, and I was planning on helping you so I don't have anything either...”

“So?” Fushimi raised an eyebrow. “Spit it out, Misaki.”

“Saruhiko...” Misaki abruptly held out a hand to him. “Go out with me.”

“....Out?” Fushimi repeated, slightly dumbfounded, mind trying to wrap itself around the implication.

“N-not—I didn't mean like that!” A flash of red covered Misaki's face and Fushimi would have laughed if his own body hadn't felt so hot. “I mean – you know, just...just hang out? Like old times.” Misaki laughed sheepishly. “We won't go too far, just into the city, get some lunch or something. You've been hiding in that dark cell for so long you've probably forgotten what real food tastes like.”

“Just hang out,” Fushimi repeated, fingers twitching, electricity dancing between. “Idiot. Did you forget I'm--”

“You're controlling it, right?” There was confidence in Misaki's voice, as if just saying it would make it true, and Fushimi could hear an echo from old times beneath the words, _amazing,_ enough to light his heart on fire.

“Tch.” Fushimi clicked his tongue in place of an answer, and his hand seemed to move on its own to take Misaki's, skin against skin, red fire, green sparks. “Where do you want to go anyway?”

“I dunno.” Misaki shrugged, far too casual but with a definite burst of energy in his movements, keeping Fushimi's hand clutched in his and it reminded Fushimi abruptly of being dragged from place to place in middle school, Misaki in front of him shining like a star. “We'll just go get something to eat and then come back, all right? It won't take that long and maybe your King'll be back by then so we can get practice out of the way too.”

“Whatever.” Fushimi let the word hang on his tongue, slow and noncommittal, but Misaki was already smiling and there was no stopping him now. Fushimi had set the wave rolling and had been caught up in the undertow before he'd even realized it, pulled along as always by Misaki's ebb and flow.

It was only around ten minutes later that Fushimi found himself sitting on a park bench, head dangling back and staring up at the sun through the trees above as Misaki walked over and set a paper bag already half-transparent with grease next to him.

“I got you a plain burger,” Misaki said before Fushimi could even open his mouth. “Meat and a bun, just the way you like it because you're weird. And I got fries for both of us.”

Fushimi didn't reply, hands reaching for the bag. The paper crumpled against his fingers and his mouth suddenly felt sour with the taste of charred food. The burger smelled good though, better than it should have, and he carefully took a bite before making a face and setting it back down.

“There's _mayonnaise_ on it. You didn't even check before leaving the restaurant, did you, Misaki?”

“What the hell, I asked for it plain!” Misaki picked up the burger, removing the top bun. “Wait, maybe I can wipe it off with a napkin...”

“Don't bother.” Fushimi snorted. “I'm not hungry.”

“The fuck you're not, you look like a famine victim Saruhiko.” Misaki held out the bunless burger towards him. “You need nutrients. I don't know what the hell those Blues are feeding you but it's not working.”

“I'm fine,” Fushimi said coldly, turning his face away from the food. “I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, yeah, that's what you always say, and it hasn't stopped being a lie.” Misaki sighed, hunching his shoulders a little as he looked down towards their feet, and Fushimi felt a lump of red in his throat. “Hey, Saruhiko...are you really still staying there? Y'know...in the cell?”

“I am.” He didn't let anything creep into his tone, red and blue and green gone silent beneath his skin. “It's the safest place.”

“Y-yeah, that's what everyone kept telling me when I asked.” Misaki's hands seemed to tighten where they clutched the curve of the bench, and suddenly he stuffed one hand roughly into the bag, pulling out a handful of fries. “You're not a criminal, Saruhiko.”

“I know that.” Fushimi rolled his eyes, scoffing. “I'm not an idiot, Misaki. Scepter 4's prison cells were created to hold high-level Strains. It's the most secure place in the building.”

“Yeah, but...do you really _need_ that?” Misaki looked up at him, amber eyes meeting blue, and Fushimi felt the red again, burning restless in his chest. “You're not a Strain or a criminal or anything like that. You're _controlling_ it. You don't have to keep yourself locked up behind doors and walls forever.”

Fushimi opened his mouth to reply, and colors shifted along the curve of his ribs – a blue chill, a red burn, green electricity sparking up to his heart. 

“I’m not--”

The sound of an explosion cut off any reply he could have made,  and Fushimi's body straightened at the same time as Misaki's, all three colors a sudden rush and a whirl as if preparing for an attack.

“What the hell was that?” Misaki was already getting to his feet.

“You said the Captain left headquarters because of an emergency, right?” Fushimi's mind jumped ahead on its own, noting the smoke in the air and the rush of activity in the distance towards where the sound had come from. “A Strain...”

“Then let's go!” Misaki glanced back at him. “I dunno where the rest of your guys are but that didn't sound good, right?”

“Tch. You want to interfere with an investigation, Misaki?” Fushimi's movements were languid as he stood but inside he felt like a dam ready to burst, all three colors leaping to his fingertips as if they could tear themselves from his hands. “The Captain can handle it.”  


“Yeah, that's why a building just exploded.” Misaki gave him a lopsided grin, one hand pulling his hat down more over his head and the other on his hip and suddenly it was like nothing had changed, like _they_ hadn't changed, and Fushimi's body moved on its own to answer to it. “You wanna check it out too, don't you?”

“I suppose _someone_ has to go along to keep you from getting into trouble,” Fushimi drawled, stretching idly as he let a knife slip into his palm. Misaki's smile only brightened, enough to make his head spin, and Fushimi had to look away. “Looks like we'll be getting some practicing in after all.”

“All right!” Misaki raised a fist in triumph. “The last one there's paying for lunch!”

“You already paid, idiot.”

Misaki didn't even seem to hear him, off and running towards the source of explosion and Fushimi followed after, half a step behind, power singing in his veins and colors whirling around his hands and heart.

Coming to his call, just like they always had, and Fushimi couldn't help but smile himself. Maybe this would be easy after all.

–

_It hurt._

He was boiling, frozen, body jerking with every breath. He could sense the bed beneath him, too soft to be his own, and there was a beeping sound in his ears. Something taped to his wrist, bandages everywhere, tubes and IVs, fluids, hospital smell. Fushimi didn't bother to open his eyes.

He remembered blood, red, then blue and green and the entwining of all three that he couldn't control. Explosions behind him, around him. A man with hands that glowed, and a gun pointed at Misaki's head.

He wondered if Misaki was dead, and Fushimi laughed as green electricity traveled up his arms. Something behind him exploded and there was the sound of a loud steady keening, signaling an emergency.

Then footsteps and yelling, and Fushimi sunk back into darkness.

–

When he opened his eyes again he was back in the familiar cell, gray walls and closed door. There was a blanket thrown over him and his wrist still itched; Fushimi grimaced as he noted that the IV had been left in. Someone had transplanted the machines in too – the numbers were blurry without his glasses on but he was able to get the general idea, measuring heartbeat and breathing and blood pressure. It made him want to laugh again, at the uselessness of it all.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been laying there with his eyes open when he finally noticed the presence standing there on the other side of the door. Munakata was watching him in silence, face impassive.

_Are you enjoying this?_ Fushimi did laugh then, sharp and cold, and Munakata didn't so much as flinch. _The lab mouse failed again. You're supposed to dispose of them once they're not useful anymore, Captain._

Munakata turned and left then, not speaking so much as a single word, and Fushimi couldn't stop laughing.

–

“Yata Misaki's alive, you know.” It was Akiyama who told him, sent down to change his bandages and check the IV. Fushimi would rather they simply take it out all together, but he'd refused to eat and Munakata had made it clear that the IV would remain for as long as that refusal lasted. Why Munakata felt the need to keep alive the body that had obviously been stretched beyond its limits was beyond him.

Fushimi stiffened slightly at the words but he didn't speak. His throat was too dry to even laugh now and the red stifling his lungs only made it worse.

Dimly in the back of his mouth he could taste greasy food and mayonnaise, and he wanted to throw up.

“We got him to the hospital in time.” Akiyama didn't seem to mind that Fushimi hadn't answered, carefully switching out the bag of fluids. He leaned over to check the blood pressure monitor, made a mark on the chart Munakata had left hanging there. Fushimi wondered idly if they were giving the information to an actual doctor or if it was only busywork, something to make it seem as though they were doing something besides checking to be sure he hadn't died yet. “His wounds were severe but not life-threatening. He should be out of the hospital soon.”

Fushimi's own injuries were healing as well, burns on his arms and hands, something torn in his knee. Sometimes lying in the bed Fushimi would stare at the bandages and for a moment it would be as if he could see something seeping out from between them, red and blue and green, and his breath would catch in his lungs, choking him, and then someone would run in to check on him. The amount of fuss was ridiculous and pointless, but he was too tired to fight back against it.

“...He's worried about you.” Akiyama hesitated slightly as he spoke. _Since when have you two been on speaking terms at all_ and Fushimi's lips curled at the thought. 

Akiyama touched his wrist, hands cool and steady around the gauze that kept the IV in place. Fushimi didn't even move, and finally Akiyama stood and walked to the door with a small sigh.

“He doesn't blame you.” Akiyama's voice was always so steady but this time Fushimi thought he could hear a shake in it. “Nobody blames you for this, Fushimi-san.”

Then he was gone, and Fushimi closed his eyes and slept.

–

_“Ah, I hope you don't mind the intrusion.”_

Fushimi opened one eye at the sound of the voice. His bandages were gone by now, the machines taken away, but the IV still remained. He'd become used to the constant in and out of the rest of Scepter 4, Akiyama and Hidaka and Awashima and even the occasional silent presence of Munakata standing on the other side of the bars in continuous observation. This was different though, and he wondered dully why the Silver King was even bothering to come visit him.

“I know, I know, we haven't really spoken much before, have we, Fushimi-kun? Ah, you can call me Shiro, okay? Well, I hear you're not talking much lately though. I thought I might come see you in any case. Munakata-san was kind enough to lend me entry so...here I am!”

_Annoying._ Fushimi turned his head to the side, staring at the wall. 

“Yata-kun is doing fine, or so Anna-chan tells me. But you've heard that already, right?” Shiro laughed sheepishly. “This is probably something I should let others handle. We're not close, after all. But...I thought I might have some perspective to offer, and I wanted to talk to you regardless. I should probably apologize too. This mess...I could have prevented it a long time ago, I think. You've really taken on the burden that should have fallen on all of us, and myself especially. And of course my research hasn't been much help in the end, either. So I'm afraid this is all I can give you.”

Shiro paused then, taking a deep breath, and there was the sound of feet shifting just a bit.

“Don't run away.”

Fushimi didn't even raise his head but he felt his hands clench just slightly.

“Ah, I know, that's a bit much coming from me isn't it? But that's why I think I'm the person who can say this to you. Something tragic happened to me once and a person I loved dearly paid for it. I felt that if that was the case, if this power was only a thing that brought unhappiness, then I would just take it and go away somewhere. I spent so much time running and hiding, while my friend continued with the work I had started in my place. It wasn't until something kicked me out of my hiding place – literally, in my case – that I realized how pointless all that running had been. That's why I decided that I wouldn't run anymore, wouldn't let myself regret like that anymore. Nothing will change if you don't make any choices, you know? So I couldn't just float forever. Someday, something had to bring me back down. That's when I realized my mistake too late. So because of that, I think I'm the best one to talk to you right now. I understand how you must feel, thinking there's this power you can't control and that you'll only hurt the people you love because of it. But if you let yourself, you can change, you can learn. The only way to do that is to face what's in front of you. So, Fushimi-kun...don't run away.”

Fushimi remained silent, and after a moment he heard the sound of footsteps moving away.

“Just think about it a bit, all right?” Shiro's soft laughter rang in his ears, and then there was the sound of a closing door and silence.

Fushimi rolled over and went back to sleep.

–

Red power stirring woke him from his sleep, and Fushimi's hands clenched reflexively around the red marble that was still stored beneath his pillow.

_“Saruhiko.”_

Anna's voice was quiet, hesitant, and for a brief moment he almost felt guilty for putting that tone into it.

There was the rustling of skirts and Fushimi raised his head just a little. He hadn't bothered to put on his glasses – and did he even have them for that matter, he wasn't sure if they were somewhere in the cell or if they'd been cracked and lost somewhere between here and the hospital and the smoking rubble he'd made in the center of the city – and all he could see was a blur of red and white. He supposed that was best, after all. He didn't want to see her face, what expression she was making.

“Misaki is fine.” He could almost hear the echo there, Anna by the stables and Totsuka before that, and Fushimi's fingers ran along the smooth edges of the red marble.

“Misaki doesn't blame you. He's worried.” Clothes rustling again, Anna stepping closer to the cell door, and he was too tired to tell her to move back. “It's all right. Saruhiko didn't do it on purpose, so...”

Fushimi's harsh laughter cut her off. His throat felt raw, hoarse, and he heard her take a step back. Dimly he felt bad for it but he smothered the feeling as he carefully pulled himself up into a sitting position. He felt around for his glasses – so they were there after all, had been all this time – and the room came into sharp focus at last as he put them on.

“So? Did you come to look at it, Anna?” His voice sounded utterly raw and Fushimi realized that it was the first thing he'd said since the incident. His head hung back loosely and a smile wound its way across his face like the scar left behind by a knife. “What does it look like now, all that pretty red? Tainted blue and green, no good at all?” Fushimi laughed again. 

“Saruhiko's red...” Anna's voice didn't waver and the smile dropped away from Fushimi's face. “Is still Saruhiko's red. A strong red. A powerful red.”

“Don't give me that crap!” Impulsively Fushimi threw the red marble across the room. There was the sound of something shattering and Anna flinched almost imperceptibly. Fushimi immediately felt a pang of regret and shook it off – there was no point in regretting, no point in hiding any of the mess he'd always been, not now, not when his skin felt like it was burning from the inside, flayed bare and raw and seething against the open air. That laugh was only blood from a wound, after all. “Is it even my red? That's right, isn't it? This is your beloved _Suoh Mikoto's_ red, the very last of it. That's why you're all here. You couldn't let such that precious red escape, even if it's trapped inside the body of a traitor.”

Anna's gaze remained steady as she stared at him and there wasn't even so much as a hint of a shake in her voice when she replied.

“No.” Anna took another step forward to press a white hand against the cell door. “It's Saruhiko's red.” She held up a small red marble close to one eye as she stared at him and Fushimi found himself sliding back along the bed as though retreating from that gaze. It irritated him but he couldn't stop it, and the colors inside him were churning so fast he felt as though he might be sick. 

“Did you see this coming?” Fushimi's voice was choked. “It was always like this, right? Not the same as everyone else's.”

“Saruhiko's red is dimmer, sometimes.” She was still staring at him through the marble. “There are other colors I can't see, mixed in. But still...” She lowered the marble and smiled at him, calm, caring, and Fushimi couldn't look at her anymore. “Still, it is a beautiful red.”

Fushimi didn't answer, his back to her now. His limbs were shaking and he pressed a hand over his mouth, bile rising in his throat. Red was boiling under his skin and he felt like it was trying to melt his insides, sweat suddenly wet on his brow and his hands clammy. A wave of blue rose up to smother it and then a shock of green – another convulsion, a pulse along his heartbeat, and he spat bile – and Fushimi collapsed on his hands on the bed, breathing hard as he waited for the spell to pass.

By the time he was aware of himself again, Anna was gone. There was a new red marble though, beside his pillow, and Fushimi turned away from it as he fell back into a fitful sleep.

–

Slow regal footsteps woke him and Fushimi grimaced. 

“I wondered how long it would take you, Captain.” He didn't even need to look and see who it was. Munakata didn't reply but Fushimi could still feel his presence on the other side of the door without even needing to open his eyes. “Is it your turn to spill out some useless platitudes about all this, as if that will make me _feel_ better?” He laughed coldly. “I expected better from you.”

“I am rather disappointed in you, Fushimi-kun.” Munakata's voice was cool and steady, almost enough to calm the buzzing beneath Fushimi's skin.

“Are you?” Fushimi lolled his head to one side, just enough so that he could see Munakata staring in at him. “Don't you want to tell me how much you want to help me this time? Just like everyone else, all of you and your _useless_ pity. I don't want to hear those words, not from you.”

“I assure you, I do not intend to speak anything of the sort,” Munakata said with a slight nod. “My offer from before still stands, Fushimi-kun. If you wish for the shackles, they are yours.”

“As if that's a choice.” Breathing felt like drowning in open air. “If you meant that, you'd have just left me sitting in that crater to bleed out properly.”

“Perhaps I intend to take responsibility for that which I set in motion,” Munakata said. His voice didn't waver but there was something hidden beneath its calm that Fushimi couldn't quite grasp. “I believe you are always telling me such things, yes, Fushimi-kun? To do my own work.”

“Is that it?” Fushimi laughed again. “So I'm just a responsibility to you now, is that it? How noble of you, Captain. If that's the case, maybe I should ask you for that sword again. You can do me the same care you did Suoh Mikoto.”

Munakata's expression remained serene but somehow the air around them felt colder.

“Is that something you would prefer, Fushimi-kun?” Munakata's voice was sincerely curious. “You need only ask, after all.”

“Wouldn't it make sense?” Fushimi shrugged. “There's no point in keeping around someone so dangerous who's utterly useless to you, right?”

“And is that all you feel there is to your presence here, Fushimi-kun?” Munakata asked mildly. “Simple usefulness?”

“What else is there?” Fushimi replied coldly. “This isn't a place to make friends. I knew that when I came here, because I'd had enough of that.”

“True enough,” Munakata said. “But that wasn't what I asked you, Fushimi-kun. Do you truly believe the entirety of your worth to me is measured in how useful you can be?”

“Tch.” Fushimi clicked his tongue. “That's the same thing, isn't it? Why other use could you have for someone languishing in your dungeon waiting for three powers to tear him apart? Suoh Mikoto's death made you soft, Captain.”

“Perhaps.” Munakata laughed quietly. “But I fear you have misunderstood me from the start, Fushimi-kun. Certainly, I value you as a member of Scepter 4 and consider your skills an important asset. But I brought you here because I felt _you_ had potential, yourself. Whether you live up to that belief or not cannot be quantified in simple data. That you are currently in a state of flux, unable to carry out your normal duties, does not make my feelings change nor should it. A single failure is not the entirety of your worth, Fushimi-kun. Your place here does not become less simply because you feel it should be so.” 

_Irritating._ Fushimi grit his teeth. Munakata's entire demeanor, so calm and rational, as if Fushimi should believe the words he said simply because Munakata was the one to say them. It made him sick, the way his heart still stirred at it.

“If you're going to throw me away, Captain, just do it already.” Fushimi turned pointedly away from him. “There's no point in keeping around a failed experiment, right?”

“I do not recall considering you anything of the sort,” Munakata said and there was an unexpected fierceness to his words that made Fushimi's entire body go rigid. “Indeed, if there is any failure here it is _mine,_ for placing you in such a situation to begin with.”

“I chose this,” Fushimi said dully, leaning wearily against the wall as if he couldn't quite support himself anymore.

“You did,” Munakata agreed. “And you performed your duties admirably, Fushimi-kun. So I wonder what failure you are speaking of, that I should be so displeased as to rid myself of you. I asked you to infiltrate the Green clan and help defeat Hisui Nagare in any way you could. You have done so. It is in partial thanks to you that we are all still alive and victorious. You are continuing to live up to my expectations even still.”

“Don't say stupid things,” Fushimi said hoarsely. “I can't even--”

“Humans were not meant to take on three colors,” Munakata continued. “And yet you were able to do so, Fushimi-kun. Indeed, I believe you may be the first ever to do so. That such a thing may be difficult for you is understandable. Not every problem can be solved the moment it appears in front of you. But none of this changes the fact that you were indeed able to take on three colors and make them obey you, for a time at least. Why should I be displeased, that you have done something no other human being has ever been able to do?”

“And it's worse than useless if I can't control it,” Fushimi said coldly. “Or is that why I'm still here? Am I your test subject now, Captain?”

“No.” There was the sound of movement, Munakata turning as if to leave. “I have never considered you as such, Fushimi-kun. I have full confidence in you. In time, I believe you will learn to adapt to the three colors you have obtained, to control them. And no matter how long that should take, you are still a member of Scepter 4. I will continue to wait for you until you have made your choice as to what you wish to do going forward, but until that time comes I have no intention of abandoning you or discarding you. Please keep that in mind.”

Fushimi turned to look at him then, the blue wrapping itself around his arms, his legs, cooling in his veins like water, and Munakata smiled brilliantly one more time before walking away.

–

“You stupid monkey.”

Fushimi shifted, every nerve in his body suddenly buzzing with green sparks and red flames. 

Of course it would be _him_. It wasn't like Fushimi hadn't expected him to turn up eventually, even as he'd hoped that maybe he'd finally burned that red thread to ashes at last.

“Hey! Are you listening to me, Saruhiko?”

“How could I ignore all your stupid mindless yelling, _Misaki?”_ Fushimi said coldly as he heaved himself up on his arms, turning his head so that he was facing the cell door.

Misaki looked better than Fushimi had expected, though he supposed that it had to have been at least a few weeks now if not a month. It was no wonder the wounds would have healed by now. And even then Fushimi could still see traces of them, a bandage around Yata's wrist, the remains of a burn mark just above one eye.

_(And even as he stared at Yata the memories he'd almost blocked out assaulted him again, the swirl of red and blue and green that all slipped away from him at once, Misaki's scream of pain and Fushimi's own hands blossoming bright with blood, burning and convulsing as his own power rebelled against him, the explosion and the darkness and the bleeding motionless form of Misaki lying in the center of it all, the deep certainty that shook him to the core that Misaki was dead, Misaki had to be dead, and it was all Fushimi's fault and as he reached up to grasp his shoulders he paid no mind to the way his hands sparked green, let it take him, let it pulse in his blood and stop his heart, because what else did he have if there was no Misaki, nothing but ghosts and ash, and the color swallowed him whole until it all went black.)_

“Saruhiko!” It was Misaki's yell that brought him back and Fushimi realized that he'd been choking, curled up close to himself with a hand over his mouth, coughing wetly, and he disguised it with a frayed laugh.

“I don't need you to look at me like that.” Fushimi lowered his hand and ignored how it shook, ignored how it flashed blue and then green. “Who sent you, Misaki? Anna? The Captain? Here to tell me how you don't blame me and I should come out already and enjoy all these wonderful powers of mine?”

“That's not why I'm here!” Misaki took a step closer as if he was about to enter the cell, and Fushimi tensed. “You idiot...what the hell do you think you're doing? None of this was your fault, you don't have to--”

“ _Fault?”_ Fushimi sneered. “All of you keep saying that, as though it matters. I _did it,_ Misaki. My powers were the ones that nearly flayed your flesh off your bones.” Misaki flinched and Fushimi smiled. “What's wrong? You don't like hearing it?” He felt the sudden need to be closer, to see Misaki's face more clearly, and he slid off the bed onto his own two feet. He only managed a single step before stumbling, suddenly far too aware of how weak he felt.

“Saruhiko!” A hum of sound as the bars of the cell pulled back and Fushimi's entire body felt struck through with color, blue and red and green as he clenched his fists against the floor.

_“Stay away!”_ The cell walls sparked with green and he could just make out Misaki taking a step backwards from where he'd been trying to approach. Fushimi raised his head and forced himself back up on trembling legs. “You see, Misaki? This is what happens when you get too close.” He held up one hand, burning red to the fingertips.

Misaki stepped backward again, stopped, swallowed hard and moved forward towards him instead.

“If you think that's gonna scare me away you're a bigger idiot than I thought.” There was a slight tremor in Misaki's voice, and Fushimi couldn't tell if it was from fear or something deeper, fear not for himself but for someone else, and Fushimi grit his teeth.

“Idiot? Me?” Fushimi scoffed, skin boiling hot with the powers snaking through his veins. “If you had a brain in your head you'd be anywhere else but here.”

“Where the hell else am I gonna be?” Misaki's fists were clenched tight and shaking and it made no sense, none at all. “What the hell do you think I've been doing all this time, Saruhiko? I've been so fucking worried--”

“Because you're an idiot.” Fushimi spat the words out, blood churning in his lungs, electricity dancing along the back of his hand. “What was it you said before? That I was 'controlling it'?” He gave another laugh, cold and dead, creaking like tree branch at the edge of a snowstorm. “Your pointless words won't change anything. Or did you want me to do it again, burn off your skin, so that you'll finally understand?”

“If what I'm supposed to _understand_ is leaving you alone, then go ahead and try it.” Misaki was so close now that they could touch but Fushimi refused to be the one who stepped back. Misaki was still staring at him with that straightforward gaze and the floor of the cell sparked with a sudden rush of electricity. Even so, Misaki stood his ground. “I'm not leaving that easily, Saruhiko. None of us are. When will you get that through your stubborn head?”

“If all of you would stop clinging to stupid sentiment and cheap words you would understand,” Fushimi said darkly. “You saw what happened, Misaki. What happens to anyone near me when I lose control, because I'm too weak to contain it.” _Useless, useless,_ and he could feel it shattering between his fingertips with every word. Such a fool he'd been, to think anything could last, even this – even his own body, his soul, turned against him at last. “Go away. I don't need any of you here to look at me with that pity, as if that will change anything.”

“I never pitied you, Saruhiko.” And he'd expected Misaki to yell, to _fight,_ to do anything but stare at him with that steady gaze _,_ and for a fleeting moment Fushimi found himself wondering when _Misaki_ got so strong. “Yeah, it got away from you. It's gonna get away from you again, probably. If you think I don't get that you're more of an idiot than I am. I know shit happens, Saruhiko, and even you can't be perfect. But it doesn't matter. If you lose control once, okay fine. Do better next time. But if you think I'm gonna sit by and let you give up – if you think any of us are, you're still too much of a stubborn asshole to realize how much you mean to everyone. How—how much you mean to _me.”_

Red, like a fire in his heart, and Fushimi's hands were shaking as he bit his lip and forced a glare.

“You? I don't remember saying we were friends again, _Misaki.”_ He put all that he could into the words, scorn and hatred and every ounce of _that man's_ loathing, and still Misaki didn't flinch.

“Yeah, well, some shit doesn't need to be said.” Misaki reached out for him and Fushimi wouldn't let himself shrink back, not from this person of all people, Misaki's hand brushing his shoulder. “You're stronger than this, Saruhiko. You're the strongest guy I've ever met, you know that? Because you've been through all this shit and you're still standing. You've always, always been stronger than this. Are you really gonna let something like _this_ beat you, after everything we fought and tore each other apart for? _Now_ you're gonna give up on me?”

“I'm not giving up,” Fushimi sneered, smacking Misaki's hand away, and Misaki didn't even so much as flinch at the spark of green that was released the moment their hands brushed each other's. “Unlike you, Misaki, I have enough of a brain to know when something is a lost cause.”  


“Yeah, right.” Misaki shook his head, and there was the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips. “The Saruhiko I know fucking hates to lose. And I think you know it too. You're being a stubborn asshole now because you think you can't do it, because you were always the guy who gave up if he couldn't do something perfectly on the first try and then acted like you never wanted to do it in the first place. Remember—remember when I tried to teach you to skateboard, and you fell off?”

“Tch. Why are you bringing that up again?” Fushimi looked away, sullen, and cold blue made his fingers go stiff. “Like I wanted to learn something stupid like that.”

“See? That's exactly what I'm saying!” Misaki pointed sharply at him. “You fell and I told you to try again, but you wouldn't because you said it was stupid. But this time you can't say that, you can't walk away just because you can't do it, and you don't know what to do so you're trying to push everyone away, like any of us care if you're perfect or not! No one expects you to be able to handle this shit all on your own, Saruhiko. Sometimes it takes a while, hell, maybe it'll take _years,_ who the fuck knows – but I know you can beat it. You're still the most amazing guy I've ever met, Saruhiko. And if you fucking give up on me now, after all the shit we've been through, I'll never forgive you.”

Fushimi felt the colors flaring in his veins again – red, blue, green – and Misaki's eyes shining wet as he turned abruptly on his heel and left the cell. The cell door shut behind him and Fushimi could hear the footsteps moving away, quickly, and then the heavy slamming of a door.

Then, silence, and Fushimi fell back against the bed.

_Misaki..._ Fushimi shook his head, lip curling and small green lights flashing beneath his palms. _Idiot._ As if saying it would make it true. As if Misaki's words could make him less than what he was, a useless experiment failed at last.

Fushimi's hands braced against the bed and he paused as his fingers brushed something cool and round. Anna's new marble, still lying on the bed where he'd left it, and for the first time since her visit Fushimi picked it up and held it between two fingers, staring through it.

_Red._

Pulsing, burning, swift beneath his skin, and he could almost smell Suoh Mikoto's cigarettes on the wind. Suddenly Fushimi wondered if this was how Mikoto had felt all the time – a raging power roiling like a wave inside his soul, and there was nothing to do but close his eyes and ride it out until the end that came on the point of a sword.

_“You're fine the way you are.”_ Had he ever been? Fushimi let the marble rest in the center of his palm and colors swirled around it, a spark of green and a flame of red, a cool splash of blue, and Fushimi's body shuddered.

_Control._

He could still see it in his mind's eye – Misaki held motionless with the barrel of a gun pointed straight at him, the way all of Fushimi's powers had rushed up at once in response to the screaming in his soul and Fushimi unable to push them back, to shove them away and call on just one.

The red was building, a tiny tempest of flame surrounding the marble, and Fushimi bit his lip so hard he could feel blood dripping down his chin.

_Control._

Suoh Mikoto's cigarettes and the smell of Bar Homra, the clink of glasses and the sound of Misaki's laughter, and a burning in his soul that had never gone away, not really.

_Control it._

The red swirled once and then died, swallowed up by the sudden tornado of electricity that began to dance in his palm, and the marble trembled. 

Green. He'd been told it was the 'color of change,' once – but change what? Change who? How long had he been here, unchanging and unchanged, and he'd thought for a moment that this color was not suited to him at all. But he'd taken it anyway, held it in his hands, and something had changed. Utterly against his will but inexorable, inevitable as a tide, it had changed.

_Control._

The world had moved on, and his heart beat fast, electricity in his veins the same way Hisui Nagare's electricity had sparked in place of a human heart, a body moved by power and ambition and a single dream, and for a moment Fushimi had felt his fingers brush the edge of it. Change. Another spark, calmed.

Blue now, a steady pulse, closing in on the marble from all sides and shrinking as if to break it. _Take this sword,_ he'd been told once, kneeling in the rain. He smelled coffee and printer ink, heard laughter in his ears, and the soft clink of a puzzle piece put into place.

It was order, after all. He of all people had never been made for order, not with his mind always a swirl of chaos, emotions boxed up and pinned down and sunk into the depths of his soul where he wouldn't need to feel them, until three colors dragged them up. But there was order in this too, in the steady movement of hands across a keyboard, praise in his ears, and smiles that welcomed him home no matter how many times he replied with a scowl or an acid word. Order.

_Control._

The blue broke, faded away, and the marble sat there in his palm, the surface smooth and still.

Unbroken.

–

There was a blue wind blowing.

He could feel it in his bones, in his veins, red in the arteries, and the grass was a vivid green. Fushimi raised one arm to shield his eyes from the sun, and didn't let his legs shake.

In the distance he could see two figures, waiting for him. Fushimi felt his mouth twist in a shape that might have been a smile, and power stirred like a waking serpent in his soul. It shuddered, opened its mouth, and Fushimi kept his footsteps steady even as it pulsed and coiled inside him.

_Red, blue, green. Inside, seeping out, always waiting for the moment to strike._

And outside himself – the deep blue of his King's coat as Munakata shifted to face him, an inscrutable smile on his face, a flash of light through green leaves catching on the rim of his glasses. Misaki beside him, red hair blazing in the sun and a bright grin like a rainbow after a storm, painted in a color he didn't know the name of.

Not yet, and Fushimi stepped forward through the light as Misaki held out a wooden sword towards him.

“One more time?”

Fushimi took a deep breath, exhaled, and reached for the sword.

“One more time.”


End file.
